


The One Where Michael and Amanda Eat Pot Brownies

by lumbeam



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you read the title, you know what you're going to get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Michael and Amanda Eat Pot Brownies

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom always needs more Michael/Amanda fluff. Enjoy!

Franklin could feel Michael’s eyes on his every move. “Man, if you don’t cut that shit out, I'll be starting to think you’re that Gordon Ramsey dude.” He continues to mix the batter of the brownies.

Michael steps back and rests slightly upon the kitchen stool near the stove. He chuckles slightly. “Sorry, Frank. I'm just interested in your craft.”

“My ‘craft,’ okay,” Franklin says with a smile playing on his lips. He’s just glad he isn’t wearing some corny “kiss the cook” apron right now. (Not that he has one.)

Michael watches wordlessly as Franklin pours the batter into a greased pan. After using a rubber spatula to get the remainder of the mix, he pops it into the oven. “All right, it’s going to be about,” he looks at the oven clock, “twenty minutes or so.”

“Okay then.” Michael says, still watching the oven.

\--------------

“So, like, I never really took you for an edibles kinda dude. Shit, I don’t even see you as a guy who wants to relax and have _fun_ for a change.” Franklin says in Michael’s direction, his eyes still fixated on the replays of last night’s basketball game.

Michael rubs at his temple with his left hand. “I _would_ be offended if both of those things weren’t true.”

“Why now? What changed?”

“Well--” Michael stretches out on the cushy couch. “Tracey’s at college, and I got Jimmy to move out--with _my_ money, of _course_ , and Amanda and I--”

“--Just need to remember what it’s like to not live with children?”

“Pretty much. I'll tell ya what, Frank--don’t have kids. You won’t know what it’s like to have fun ever again.”

Franklin scoffs. “ _Psh_ , yeah, you might have told me that once or twice.”

The timer of the oven goes off. Franklin goes over to turn off the oven and get the brownies out.

“So, Frank--” Michael calls out, “Will this mellow me out?”

“Shit, if these don’t mellow out your uptight ass, then I have no hope for anything.”

Michael slings an arm over the back of the couch. “I sure fuckin’ hope they work.” He says, loud enough for Franklin to hear him.

Franklin is stabbing the brownies with a fork to make sure they’re baked all the way through, although he personally prefers them gooey. “You don’t trust me?”

“Nah, nah, I do, it’s just--” Michael shrugs. “I can’t really remember the last time I felt truly at peace.”

“Except you relaxed in Los Santos in your big-ass mansion for like...a decade? But, oh, you don’t know what it’s like to feel _comfortable_ , okay.” Franklin says acridly.

“All right, _all right_ , you caught me pitying myself again.” Michael sighs, getting off of the couch.

“I sure fuckin’ did.” Franklin finally told Michael that he only will hang out with him if he stops pissing and moaning about his rich and miserable life. It’s been working out, for the most part. He puts the brownies on a paper plate and goes off to get the saran wrap in the drawer near the fridge.

“So,” Michael says, eyeing the brownies. “These won’t look suspicious, like--if I get pulled over--”

“Michael,  _dog_ ,” Franklin says in an exasperated tone, “You’ll be fine, a’ight? You’re a white dude, you ain’t gettin’ pulled over. Now, if it were Lamar or somethin’, that’d be a different story.”

“Fine, all right, I'll stop worrying.” Franklin covers the plate in saran wrap. He slides the plate to Michael, who is careful in making sure it doesn’t slide off the counter. He picks it up like a secret agent would pick up a bomb.

“By the way. Do _not_ eat more than one. This is high quality shit, a’ight? But it still takes like an hour to work, so don’t get fuckin’ impatient.”

“What if I eat more than one?”

“Trust me, just don’t. Otherwise you’ll probably feel like you’re going to die.”

“Well, no more than usual then.” Michael smirks. Franklin isn’t smiling.

“I'm serious, dude. _Don’t._ ”

“All right, all right. No more than one, got it. Do I pay you, or?”

Franklin shakes his head. “Nah, it’s on me. Enjoy yourself, man.” He doubts that Michael actually will.

Michael nods. “Okay, thanks for--” he gestures to the plate. “See ya.”

“Later.” Franklin waves off before picking up one of the leftover brownies to enjoy for himself.

\--------------

After driving home very _very_ carefully, Michael and the brownies arrive home safely. After searching for Amanda throughout the house, he finally finds her sunbathing by the pool.

“Hey Mandy,” he says, striding up to her reclining chair, “look what Frank made for us.”

Amanda lifts up her sunglasses and cranes her neck to see what’s on the plate. “I thought you were on a diet?”

“Well, I figured it’d be fine to indulge a little.”

“You just started your diet last week.” Amanda says, settling back into her chair and putting her sunglasses back on. “I don’t think that’s grounds for indulgence just yet, Michael.”

“Mandy, he made them for the both of us. And he put in a little _special_ ingredient.”

This gets Amanda’s attention. She sits up in her chair.

“You got _pot brownies_? Oh my god, the last time we smoked was...maybe after Jimmy was born? You had such a bad trip, remember?”

Michael covers his face in embarrassment for a second. After regaining his composure, he says, “It’d be good for us, Mand. We could go on a date--”

“Michael, how old are we? Eating pot brownies, going on _dates_? I didn’t think it was possible to have a second midlife crisis.”

“Call it what you want, but you can’t deny you’re not interested.”

Amanda is silent for a moment. She takes off her sunglasses as she considers Michael’s offer. Finally, she makes a noncommittal shrug. “Let’s go out later, then.”

“See, I knew you’d go for it!” Michael says, smiling. Amanda smiles back. “Let’s have one and maybe go out to dinner?”

“Now you’re intentionally sabotaging your diet.”

The smile doesn’t fade from either of their faces.

\--------------  
  
“Do we just split a brownie, or do we each have one?”

“Frank said no more than one, so--”

Amanda shrugs and takes one. After sinking her teeth into the brownie, she makes a yummy noise. “Not bad! Your protegé is a good chef.”

Michael takes one also, eating it in two big bites. Amanda scoffs at him, still working though her piece. “What?” He asks, his mouth full of brownie.

“Could you be any more of a pig?” Amanda asks, furrowing her brow.

Michael doesn’t respond until he swallows the remaining brownie in his mouth. “Sorry, it was just really good…” He mutters, almost a little sheepishly.

Amanda laughs humorlessly and takes another bite, even more ladylike this time. “Where do you want to go?”

Michael cleans his teeth with his tongue. “There’s always Burgershot?” She shoots him a look of judgement. “Or not.”  
  
“Let’s go somewhere fancy! That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“As fun as a fuckin’ heart attack. Let’s just go to the diner down the street. Just in case something happens.”  
  
“‘Something happens?’ Such as you being worried that the entire universe was in the mind of our dog, and if he woke up we’d all be gone?”

Michael buries his face in his hands. “Fuckin A, Mandy, are you going to bring this up _every time--_ I learned my lesson after that to not buy weed from Brad, the fuckin’ asshole--”

Amanda laughs and slips on her coat. “The diner is fine. You drive.”

He sighs slightly, pushing away the embarrassment once more, and slips his keys into his suit jacket.

\--------------

Toggling through the radio stations, Amanda finally settles on Nonstop Pop. She’s shocked that Michael doesn’t oppose her choice, which makes her suspicious. “Are you feeling anything yet?”

“Mandy, it’s been fifteen minutes. Frank said it takes about an hour before you’ll feel anything.”

“Well, how do we know that Franklin actually put weed into the brownies? What if he’s just fucking with us?”

“Cause I was there when he made them. _Relax_.”

“That’s _rich_ coming from you, Michael.”

“I’m just _saying_.” He says bitterly as he pulls into the diner’s parking lot.

\--------------

“What are you going to order?” Amanda asks, not looking up from the menu.

“Probably a burger and fries. Might as well destroy my diet in a big way.” He says in an affected tone.

Shaking her head slightly, she scans the menu before closing it. “I might just get a salad.”

“Mandy, don’t do that thing where you order something healthy but you end up taking all of my fries.”

“I'm not going to!” She says a little bit defensively. Michael smirks because he knows she’s lying.

The waitress, an older woman clad in the classic 50s-style pink dress, stops by the table with a little notebook. “Can I take your order?” She asks in a cigarette-scarred voice.

“Yeah, I'll have a burger--medium rare--and fries, thanks.”

After jotting down what has to be scribbles, she turns to Amanda. Amanda, shooting a glare over at Michael, says “I'm getting the same as him. I want my burger cooked medium-well, though.”

Amanda can hear Michael quietly say, “There you go!”

The waitress writes Amanda’s order and walks away without another word. The two of them share a look. “That was weird. How long has it been?”

Michael checks his phone. “Forty minutes.”

“Hopefully it’ll hit when we get our food. That would be a fucking miracle.”

“You’re telling me.” Michael says, twisting his wedding band around his finger. He only does this when he’s nervous.

She notices. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs at first, not knowing what to say. “Is it weird to say I'm scared?”

“Considering the last time we smoked, where you tried to stop time and then you got mad at me when I told you that you couldn’t stop time, I don’t think so.”

“ _Mandy_ ,” He whines. “I blocked out most of that night, please stop reminding me.”

“Fine, fine, I will.” She says, not really committing to those words. Michael continues to spin his ring.

\--------------

By the time the food gets to their table, they start to feel it. They don’t really realize it at first, but Michael notices everything becoming brighter, a little blurred around the edges. He keeps looking over at Amanda, smiling slightly. Why is he _smiling so much?_ Yeah, he’s smiling at his _wife_ , but the last time he smiled this much looking at her was probably on their wedding day.

Then he takes a bite of his burger.

It’s the best burger he’s ever had in his entire life.

It’s like if God came down and hugged him.

Then he _knows_.

When he is done chewing his bite, he looks up to see Amanda laughing at him.

He starts to laugh too. “What is it?” He manages to ask.

“Are you _okay_ over there?” She asks through giggles.

“Yeah?” He asks, not really realizing that he said it.

“I just thought you were--” she starts laughing again. “--making out with your burger. I was starting to get a little jealous!”

Michael laughs in bewilderment. “ _What_?”

“I don’t know!” She’s full on cackling now. There’s no use in trying to get her to explain herself more. If Michael weren’t high, he’d probably notice the old couples and families looking over at their booth.

Michael goes back to his godsend of a burger. Amanda is still laughing.

The waitress walks over again, her expression more stern and annoyed than before. “We’ve been getting some complaints about you two causing a ruckus.”

Amanda tries to keep a straight face. She wipes the tears away from her red eyes. “Sor--sorry, we’ll keep it down.” Michael, mouth stuffed with a burger, nods along with her. The waitress rolls her eyes and goes off to a different table.

Although she’s trying to stifle her laughter, it’s not working too well. Michael polished off his burger, but now he’s working his way through the fries. Craning his head to see where the waitress went, he eyes her closely.

“What--” Amanda chuckles. “What is it?”

“I know something that could cheer our waitress up.”

Amanda’s smile fades. “ _Don’t give her a brownie._ ” She whispers, her tone serious.  

“Nah, even better.” He gets out a pen and starts to scrawl some numbers on his ketchup-stained napkin. “I'm giving her Trevor’s number.”

That’s when Amanda burst out into a howl. “ _What_?!”

“You heard me! She’s his type!”

“Speak of the devil!” Amanda says through tears. The waitress comes back _pissed_.

“You’re going to have to leave.” She says it as if she’s a schoolteacher punishing her students. “ _Now._ ”

Amanda throws up her hands in defeat before collecting her coat and purse. She’s still stifling her laughter.

Michael pulls out a C-note and grabs two handfuls of french fries before leaving the diner.

\--------------

After shoving the remaining french fries in his mouth, Michael rubs his greasy hands along his legs. The two of them get into their car.

“What do you want to do?” Michael asks as he slowly pulls out of the diner’s parking lot.

Amanda shrugs, fiddling with the snaps on her jacket. “Drive around?”

And so they do just that. It takes at least ten minutes for them to drive around a block. In that time, Michael figures out what to do.

“I got an idea,” he announces, sitting up in his seat a little. He presses his foot on the accelerator, going up to a _blistering_ 25/mph.

“Woah babe,” Amanda says, getting out of her daze, “watch your speed.”

“Ah, it’ll be fine.” Michael says, checking his rearview mirror for any cops. There are none.

\--------------

An inordinately long amount of time later, they make it to the Vinewood sign. The sunset is in its deepest oranges and pinks, and the lights of Los Santos are just starting to come on. The two of them pile out of the car, entranced by the view.

“ _Shit_ ,” Amanda says in a whisper. That’s all she can really say right now. She didn’t talk at all in the car, instead choosing to focus on her hands and the stitching in her coat.

“Yeah, I know.” Michael agrees. He sits on the ground near the large letter _V_. Amanda does the same. They watch the sunset until it melts completely into the bright lights of the city.

After some time, Amanda looks over at Michael. “Michael, did you…Did you ever stop loving me?”

“Oh, honesty hour.” Michael laughs, rubbing at his red eyes. “Uhh...not really. I mean, there were times where I considered out, but I don’t think I could ever, you know, leave.”

“Same for me.” Amanda says.

“Mand, even though our relationship was, and probably still kind of is, a fucking disaster, I can’t imagine myself with other people.”

“But you’ve been with so many other--”

“You know what I mean, okay? I wouldn’t want to actually--” he scrunches his face up-- “date anyone else if we got a divorce anyway. Can you _imagine_? Me? Now? Trying to woo some woman into being with me for more than a date?”

Amanda’s giggling starts, this time more subdued than in the diner. “Oh my god, no! Although I don’t _want_ to imagine that.”

Michael laughs back, eyes drifting back onto the glimmering Los Santos lights.

A few minutes pass by. Amanda scoots closer to Michael. He puts his arm around her.

“Have you kept your promise? You know, to be faithful?” She asks, in a lower voice.

“Yep.” Michael answers almost instantly.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Because I'm too fuckin’ high to lie.” Michael smiles after what he said. “That rhymed.”

“True poetry, Michael.” She chuckles back. Michael remains amused with himself.

“Shit,” Amanda says, somehow remembering how high she is. “How long does this last?”

Michael laughs. “I didn’t ask Franklin that. I was too concerned about if i’d get pulled over--”

“What if we’re just high forever? Or, or we’re actually not high at all?” She asks in a panicked voice.  
  
“Mand, I was there when he made them, and there’s definitely _something_ in them, okay?” He holds her closer. “Don’t act like I did the last time we got high.”

“Like how you spent twenty minutes rubbing your hands against my bathrobe?”

“It was _so soft_ , Mandy.” Michael says, not embarrassed by the memory. He rubs his hands over her jacket. “Your coat isn’t nearly as soft.”  
  
She takes off her coat. “How about my skin?”

His hands rub over her arms. She must have recently incorporated shea butter into her routine, because they are _so soft._ Almost as soft as Michael remembers her fluffy bathrobe being. “That’s more like it.” He mutters, focusing on pressing his fingers against her toned (yet soft) arms.

“Do you want to make out?” Amanda asks on a whim.

Michael laughs. “Are you kidding me, Mandy? Of--of fuckin’ course I do.”

The two of them sink into a kiss. Neither of them remember a kiss with anyone being _this_ passionate. It doesn’t even bother them that it’s probably the weed talking. Michael wraps his arms around her, holding her tight. She wraps her arms around his neck. When they reluctantly come up for air, they found that they moved down to laying on the ground.

“Wow,” Amanda says, breathing hard. Michael’s hands roam over her body. Even before they completely catch their breath, they move back into the kiss. Amanda’s hands move over Michael’s strong shoulders, while Michael’s hands settle over her chest. She chuckles into his mouth and presses her body closer into his touch.

Amanda breaks the kiss. “It feels like I'm _floating_.” She says with a sigh, planting kisses along his neck.

Michael is content with feeling her kisses and her body against his. Eventually, the rocks on the ground start to dig into his back. “Can we move to the car?” He asks.

Amanda sits up, her lipstick slightly smudged and her hair out of place. “Yeah,” she breathes.

Moving to the backseat, their make out session gets more heated. Each of them end up stripping down to their underwear.

Michael stops kissing for a second to laugh at the situation. “Getting high, making out in the backseat of a car--guess you were right about a second midlife--”

“Shut _up_ ,” Amanda says, pulling him back into a kiss. She climbs on top of him, kissing him and feeling his hands stroke at her legs.

“Oh, is this going where I _think_ it’s going?” Michael asks, knowing full well that’s where it’s going. Amanda smiles, moving her underwear to the side (mostly because it’d be too much work to take them off completely). Michael tugs his boxers halfway down his ass to get his dick out.

Their sex is slow, consisting of focusing on the movements rather than their mutual “get over with it” attitude. Michael is moaning more, while Amanda is mostly expressing herself through soft sighs. They’re both on a different plane of existence, like time has actually stopped. When Michael finally cums, it rolls over his body slowly. He works on finishing Amanda off, and it’s much of the same for her.

After they do what they can to clean up, they’re in the front seats, still in their underwear. They’re staring out the car window in a daze.

“Fuckin’ A, I'm _still_ high. Maybe a little less than before, but... _fuck_.” Michael says, adjusting his boxers. Amanda nods in agreement. He starts up the car.

“Are we going home?” Amanda asks with some sadness in her voice.

“Yeah, unless you want to go somewhere--”

“Ice cream sounds good.” She muses.

Michael smiles at her. “Let’s go get some ice cream, then. Although,” he glances down at his half-naked body, “we probably should put on some clothes.”

Amanda groans, sinking down in her seat. “Can’t you just go through a fast food drive-thru somewhere? I’m sure the teenagers at the window have seen weirder.”

He hesitates slightly and pushes the seat back to get his clothes. “At least put on a shirt or something, okay?”

“ _Fine,_ ” she sighs out, pulling her shirt over her head. Michael puts the gear shift into drive.

“We need to do this more often, babe.” She says, rolling down the window and letting the wind blow through her hair.

It takes a second for him to respond, but after a second he nods. “We sure fuckin’ do.”

 


End file.
